“She was your mate. You must have sensed it. Yet you abandoned her and her unborn child.”
His head whipped up at her words. “What child?”
“Her babe died at childbirth. Lucian was without a mother. How could I not put them together?” She tsked. “Such a clear message from the Fates.”
He sank with a groan of lamentation. His crimes were even more unforgivable than he’d imagined. One night and he’d ruined so many lives. He’d had another child. One he’d never meet. He blinked away his pain. In this moment, he had no right to claim it.
As Thereus played out what happened, his mate’s actions made sense. Though what she’d done had been unlawful, her reasons were true. It was, in fact, he who was responsible for this. Had he controlled his urges better, had he been a man of honor and not run away, their lives would be different.
He sighed deeply, wishing she’d trusted him enough to tell him the truth. That she’d so long kept this from him hurt more than the secret itself. Though he fathomed why. By centaur law, she should be executed. Hadn’t he told her as much? He grimaced, recalling his “no quarter given” speech.
“Well?” His housekeeper’s sharp tone broke through his musings.
Right. He leapt to his feet. “Indeed, Alkippe. Time to sort this out later. I have a mate to rescue.”
“Finally.” She beamed at him before he sprinted for the Portal.
***
Her brother showed no gentle hand as he dragged Melita to where his men were waiting with horses. She wasn’t surprised Thereus didn’t follow them.
A voice deep inside her whispered, stirring treacherous thoughts. She was his bonded mate, it mattered not what else she was. He should have defended her against everything. He should not have let her be taken. No bonded male, or decent husband, would have done so.
She stifled a cry of frustration. Of humiliation. Of loss. None of this would have happened if bonded males did exist. This was her proof they were a myth.
They traveled away from Westgard, until the sun set, and they made camp for the night.
Alone inside Philaeus’s tent, she beat her desperation down deeper, far inside her where it wouldn’t haunt her. In truth, she’d betrayed Thereus in the most horrendous of ways. She deserved to be punished for her crimes.
As if fulfilling her prediction, Philaeus slithered into his tent.
“Well, sister, I must say…” He sneered at her as he peeled off his gloves. “Well-played. Kalliste was a fool for bringing you with her. Truly, neither of us accounted for your crafty nature. To think, you’ve even deceived Lord Thereus!” He clapped his hands in mock applause.
Her stomach roiled and she covered her mouth with her hand to suppress her despair. Would Alkippe convince her mate of the truth? She prayed yes.
Melita glared at her brother, trying to retain her anger, lest the fear underneath it rise. He was a cruel, bitter man. Capable of horrors which would make even the gods cringe. He oversaw the tortures in the castle dungeon. What he did to her years ago, with his rowdy soldiers, was mere child’s play compared with what she was certain he planned for her.
Philaeus strode to one corner and plucked a silver instrument hanging from a belt. She averted her face, not caring what he would use to torture her with.
“Melita, you will tell me everything, one way or another. Starting with, where is my sister?” His voice was cold. No mercy for her tonight.
Even worse, Kalliste was dead. Her body had been placed on a funeral pyre, lit and set out on the Peneios River, as was the royal custom of their people. Nothing remained of her body. No proof of how she’d died. Even so, Melita would tell him the truth. “Kalliste died in childbirth to Lucian.”
His eyes smoldered with Tartarus’s fires. “You lying whore. I shall tear out your tongue first.” He toyed with the instrument in his hand. “She was a Princess.” He spat out the words. “If what you claim is true, she deserved so much more than what you gave her.”
“She had a proper burial.”
He snarled. “Proper? Without her father, her brother to mourn her passing?”
Despite herself, she let out a sob. It was so true. Her sister might’ve been spoiled and selfish, but no one deserved what Melita had done.
“Forgive me.” She hung her head, defeat weighting her body. Time for her to face her crimes. Embrace her punishment. At least she might be free of this stone of guilt inside her.
“No.” He struck the side of her head. Melita staggered on all fours, her head spinning from the blow. As a child, she’d grown accustomed to beatings at her brother’s hands. He’d blamed her for ruining his father’s marriage, for driving the Queen into madness and the King to neglect. And then, to her murder.
“Don’t you dare shed tears, or pretend she meant anything to you. Your heart is cold, nymph. You’ll not convince anyone otherwise. No plea can save you. I will avenge my sister. What I have planned for you will be far worse than death.”
With fingers as unforgiving as daggers, he forced her gaze to meet his. In those hollow depths, no atonement existed for the sins Philaeus perceived she’d committed against him. Only her shed blood would satisfy him.
She allowed him to kick her side, and grew limp in his hands as he picked her up and threw her across the tent. As she refused to cry out while he struck her repeatedly, bruising and battering her body, the will to live seeped from her. She’d never done anything right. Except… Lucian. She wheezed, tasting the copper of her blood on her lips. Lucian. What would become of him?
“I would love to end your miserable existence and let Hades determine your eternal punishment, but I’ve higher orders. When I hand you over to him, you’ll wish I had killed you instead.”
“You’re not going to kill me?” Who could be worse than Philaeus? One of his soldiers? Her heart pulsed with sluggish beats through her veins and the tips of her fingers became ice cold.
He ignored her question, letting out a sinister laugh. “I’ll claim Lucian as my heir and remove him from these beasts. I’d rather not have a centaur for an heir, yet I’ve no choice. I’ll beat the barbarian out of him,” he snickered.
“No!” A rush of power flooded her, lending her the strength to surge to her knees. Where had it come from? The gods, or…Thereus? Shaking her mind clear, she focused on saving her son. She refused to allow Philaeus to corrupt Lucian, regardless of the pact her sister made. An heir, in return for passage to Lapith lands. Kalliste gave her consent after she’d become with child, when she’d been distraught over her fate.
Yet Kalliste wouldn’t have renounced her son, not if she’d had the chance to hold him in her arms. “You can never have him,” she rasped. Her body seethed in agony from the thrashing, yet it was her heart which had been torn to shreds. She’d lost one child to her sins, and she’d not lose another.
“How will you stop me?” He sneered. “I have it, a written contract.” He withdrew a scroll from his jacket pocket, flashed it before her, and then replaced it in his pocket, patting the contract smugly. “Even Thereus will be powerless against it. Not unless he wishes to cause a war.” Jeering at her attempts to rise, he shoved her down with the heel of his boot. “All I have to do is convince Thereus the child isn’t even his. You conjured an enchantment.” He bent to murmur in her ear, the stench of his heated breath blistering against her skin. “Dearest sister, by the time I’m finished, he’ll be throwing the boy out of his castle.”
Unable to counter his statement, she whimpered. She’d seen too many of her brother’s tricks. If her mate so easily dismissed her, what did a child Thereus barely knew mean to him?
Her betrayal would cut him, would reaffirm why he’d never let anyone inside his heart. Would he flee again?
Though despair threatened to overtake her, she repelled the weak emotion. If Philaeus killed her, her centaur might never learn the truth. She must set this right.
“No, Philaeus,” she whispered, “you will not hurt them with your lies as I have done.
” Nymph or not, she refused to submit this time. In a flash, her entire body glowed a vibrant green. Her mind grabbed onto the roots of the trees underneath them. They punched through the soil and tore the instrument from his hand. Others knotted themselves around his ankles, dragging him down while he cursed.
She commanded the roots to strap him to the ground. Dozens of thick twisted ropes snaked across Philaeus’s body. One scraped over his mouth and gagged him.
The exertion weakened her. She swayed on her knees, bracing her hands against the earth to remain upright. Drawing on the power of the plants, Melita healed her injuries.
Recovering, she stepped over Philaeus, whose violent attempts at breaking free caused the roots to tear into his skin. Bending, she peered into his crazed eyes. “Go home, brother. There is nothing for you. I could kill you right now.” His eyes narrowed, more in anger than fear. “I won’t. Leave my family alone. Swear to me you will, and I’ll release you.”
He stopped struggling. A savage frigidity in his sneer told Melita he had no intention of renouncing his revenge.
As much as it would solve her problems, she was no murderer. A night spent under her powers might change his mind. For now, she must rest. Using her powers so extensively drained her. Weary, she slumped onto the sleeping furs in the corner. She’d deal with his men if they entered the tent.
The instant she closed her eyes, the tent’s flap rustled.
Gods, let me not be too late. Not too late for her to be unharmed, both her body and her soul. If the black-hearted cur laid any hand on her, he’d dismember the appendage. And then, the rest of Philaeus.
Thereus tracked the imprints made by the horses of Philaeus’s party. His hooves tore up the ground as he sped toward them. He snuck through the sparse trees, processing the details of the small camp. The desire to slay Philaeus’s band of swine coursed through his veins, yet more was at risk than Melita’s safety. The volatile truce between Lapiths and centaurs remained too fragile. It would succumb to any act of violence between them.
Employing his centaur stealth, he relied on his hooves’ soft padding to muffle his approach. “Bloody hell,” he cursed between clenched teeth. The bastard was arrogant enough to set up a tent. The sight cut through his already guilt-shredded heart. If Philaeus was secure enough Thereus wouldn’t come for her, what must Melita be thinking?
He’d wronged her in so many ways, and not only this evening. Once he had her safely within his castle, he’d never hurt her again. He’d trust her first, and not permit his pride to determine his actions. It was the most humbling thought he’d ever conceived.
His fists clenched, eager to pummel his enemy. He’d not risk the truce, but he’d damn well ensure Philaeus never harmed Melita again. The bonded male in him howled for retribution, for bloodshed. And for his bonded mate to watch him reclaim her honor. His body thrummed with the intense anticipation of a battle to be fought. To be won.
Aye, he loved a good fight.
***
Melita squinted as the tent flap opened. Anticipating guards, her hands glowed verdant.
Thereus’s dark locks, followed by his sleek, muscular horse body, strode inside, and she dropped her hands into her lap. Her breath hitched, words frozen in her throat as his gaze raked the room, over the bizarre scene of Philaeus rooted to the ground, and rested on her. Instead of joy or relief, he scowled. “I should have guessed you’d need no rescuing,” he grumbled, folding his arms across the expanse of his chest.
She curled her fists. The small tent stifled with the absurdity of the situation. There he poised for battle, a dark warrior come to her rescue. Here she sat, having already freed herself, yet she remained in this tent.
Had he truly intended to rescue her? Her heart leapt into her throat, then plummeted to the depths of her stomach. Perhaps, he’d come to claim his retribution.
“What are you doing, sleeping in the corner?” His tone stung with accusation. She braced against the hardened steel of his stance. His hooves shuffled along the padded earth, his fists remained clenched tightly enough to reveal his whitened knuckles. He snorted as his sneer came to rest on Philaeus.
The strength she’d coalesced to overpower Philaeus surged. “Where would you have me go, my Lord? I am welcome nowhere.” She tilted her chin, fear as much as defiance pounding through her. She blinked, determined he wouldn’t detect her tears, and then she worked furiously at ensuring there weren’t any.
He cursed as he stepped over her victim, no doubt trying to avoid contact with her lethal roots. Philaeus squirmed beneath, but her roots held firm, his protests muffled.
“They only do what I command them.”
“Well, that’s a comfort.” His stance softened and he chuckled. “Ah, hell.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Nymph, you’ve cheated me of one gratifying fight.”
At his light tone, her breath caught in her throat. Here to rescue her. Why? Was it love, or a sense of duty?
She wouldn’t have him for duty. She didn’t deserve his love, either.
Thereus crouched in front of her, and those piercing emerald depths lay siege to her defenses. “Come home, Melita,” he whispered, causing her to quiver at his gentle tone. “Return with me.”
She pursed her lips. His vulnerable and pleading eyes mesmerized her. He may be able to forget her sins, but they weighed down every last ounce of strength she possessed. “Why?”
His mouth curved into a grin. “Because you’re mine. You belong with me. We’ve much to discuss, much to overcome, but I have it on good authority, from the wisest King alive, mind you,” he winked, “that no bond worth its weight in gold comes easily.” Another flash of vulnerability crossed his face before he blinked it away.
“I can’t.” Shame constricted her throat, the words drawing from her like a needle threading flesh. “Not after what I’ve done.”
Arms of steel clasped around her and lifted the weight she wasn’t strong enough to bear on her own. Thereus pressed his forehead against hers. “By the gods, Melita, I’ve wronged you more than you have me.” He rasped out the words, like a man plucking daggers from his flesh.
No more jesting from her carefree centaur. He stood before her, as exposed and raw as she was. “’Tis I who must beg forgiveness, love.” The muscles in his neck flexed and bunched as he stumbled over the words.
Her love for him soared. She threw her arms around his neck and clung to him. This was her male. Her male.
Tonight, she met him not as Kalliste, but as Melita. His bonded mate.
Thereus leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Come home, sweetling.” He inclined his head toward the tent flap and the muted shuffling of the soldiers outside. “We’ll talk of everything once you’re safe.” Rising, he strode to Philaeus. His features hardened once more, Thereus knelt next to Philaeus’s head and unsheathed a dagger.
As great her hatred for Philaeus, the notion of his death churned her insides. “Please,” she whispered, “do not harm him.”
Thereus’s head snapped up. Vengeance flashed in his eyes and his hands shook as he clenched the blade’s handle.
She scrambled forward to halt his retribution. “Please.” Her nymph sentiments aside, the assassination of Philaeus would destroy their races.
Thereus growled, the dagger hovered above Philaeus’s chest. “You, Lucian, won’t be safe, so long as he breathes.”
She pressed a calming hand on his forearm. “His death would herald thousands more.” He snarled as though justice and revenge battled in his mind. “Consider what your father would do.” A heavy exhale through his nostrils signaled victory tilted in her direction. Praise Demeter. “Grab the scroll from his breast pocket. Without it, he’ll have no just cause and this misunderstanding can be forgotten.” A wave of her hand and the roots receded from his chest. Thereus tugged the parchment free and handed it to her. She tucked it into her skirt pocket, intending to burn the vile contract later.
With another wave of her hand, she removed the roots
from Philaeus’s head and the gag from his mouth. While he sputtered and choked, Thereus pegged him with his own deadly bindings—the stone-hard glare of a savage bonded male.
***
Philaeus’s forehead beaded with sweat. His leaden gulps echoed in the tent, his eyes wide and bulgy, like a fish thrown out of water. His gargled pleas made about as much sense, too.
“I’d like to gut you like the bilge rat you are.” Thereus dragged the tip of his knife from Philaeus’s throat to his stomach. His lips pressed into a grim smile while Philaeus floundered against the roots. The copper tint of blood stung Thereus’s nose, the plants cutting into his prey’s flesh. It combined with the acrid stench of urine as the wretched bastard’s bladder renounced any shred of courage.
He tossed the dagger between his hands. Philaeus’s gaze darted back and forth with it—a dog chasing a ball, only in dread, not delight.
The fine blade weighed as much as a sword, or mayhap that was the burden of his father’s expectations. He caught the blade in his right hand and flicked his wrist to point the tip at Philaeus’s throat. Bloody hell. What would Cheiron do?
Thereus was finished with not doing right by his mate. The image of Philaeus striking Melita with his filthy hands flashed through his mind, igniting his rage. Twisting his face, he peered at his mate, at those shining mahogany depths imploring him to do as she requested. To be the worthy male she deserved.
Doing right by one’s mate didn’t always mean slaughtering her assailant. Sometimes, it was about sacrificing the blood one craved so she could be at peace.
Aye, he’d love to have his vengeance, but the lily-livered caitiff beneath him wasn’t worth the effort.
Perhaps Melita did hold his reins, after all.
Earth Borne Page 18